


A Wix & Her Wand.

by myownknight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Gen, Gryffindor, Headcanon, Hufflepuff, Muggleborn, Other, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Slytherpuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownknight/pseuds/myownknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The destruction of many of the records in the Ministry under Voldemorts orders lead to nearly half a decade of muggleborn wixen being left undiscovered for years past when their magic began to reveal itself. Here are some of their stories, and the unique perspectives growing up Post War has given them and their Pure and Half Blood classmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cameron Melody Petrark.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bond between Slytherin and Hufflepuff has run deep for longer then any remember.

Outside of Hogwarts, the whole Houses thing was ridiculous in Carms opinion. Who gave a shit if the wix she bought her coffee from was a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, or if the cute guy who held the door for her at work was really a Griffendork or not. Magic was magic, and in her experience your house said less about you then your ability to wield it did.

 

Annie was a perfect example. Annie was in Hufflepuff, but had gotten into the summer internship right alongside her, assisting on a study looking at effective ways to develop passive Dark Curse repellents for mass production and distribution in the New York labs of Meddlen Magic Inc. When she wasn’t at work, she was taking night classes at the local community college, pursuing a muggle degree in chemistry. 

 

She was also four points ahead in the ongoing apartment prank war. She was also impossibly sweet and generous, but that had nothing to do with her brilliant wand-work when it came to the passive applications of Charms work. None of which had to do with how she had colored the most adorable color of mauve when she said yes the first time Carm had asked her out two weeks after they had moved in.

 

Joff, their flatmate and the snobby intern from the PR department, was every bit the product of his pureblood upbringing, and vehemently disapproved of things that were none of his fucking business in Carm’s humble opinion. When they’d moved in he’d been moderately less friged towards her, out of some presumed House Loyalty bullshit, but she’d shut that down pretty quick.

 

After all, Slytherin looked out for themselves and what was theirs. And she’d decided Annie was part of hers.


	2. Annie Leigh Baker.

Hawthorn with a Unicorn Hair Core, 14 inches. Hawthorn with a Unicorn Hair Core, 14 inches, Supple.

 

The stats of her wand echoed over and over in her head as she stared at it. Five years. it had taken the Wizarding World five years to recover to the point that they had figured out how to recreate the records of muggle born wixen to the point that those who should have been notified the year Voldemort took over had been found.

 

Five years of cups cracking by themselves, clothes always seeming to fit just the slightest bit better, of things, just, happening. Right when she needed them too. Five years believing that some guardian spirit must be looking out for her, because without it she wouldn’t have survived. And now, finally, the truth.

 

The human world hadn’t been unaffected by what was going on in the magical world. There’d been chaos, small, but noticeable. The kind of increase in day to day disruptions and strains that a quiet twelve year old could disappear into the depths of a foster housing amidst four other fosters, and not really be noticed. Annie had worked very hard not to be noticed, for a long time.

 

There’s a thin line between being an outcast, and being unremarkable. Going to class, sitting exactly in the middle, only answering when called on, getting average grades, having a variety of vague acquaintances who liked her just fine but weren’t overly bothered if she just, disappeared. Even working to be ignored, sometimes, certain people saw that as victim. That was when the Incidents started happening more regularly, and Annie found she could almost, coax it. Like is she focused really hard on a general feeling or need, she could will it to happen or not happen. Like she could talk to it. But it was called Magic, apparently, and with a wand, she could learn to control it. If she wanted to.

 

The pamphlet that materialized with her wand after her caseworker had administered the Distance Wand Evaluation Kit said that her wand could tell her about herself, would tell everyone she met who saw it some basic facts about her. Tell her secrets about what she would do if she was pushed.

 

Magic was real. She was real, and she had magic. She could learn to control it, learn to use it. How it works.

Annie looked up from her wand at her slightly frazzled caseworker, and smiled sweetly.

“When does Orientation start? I don’t want to be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My idea for a distance wand kit is something of a cross between Flooing, those wax handcasts you can do at Ren Faires, and the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, a way to accurately find a wand, without having to deal with the hords of customers that would flood a location, especially right before a new semester. Particularly with the destruction of Ollivanders, I like to imagine whatever shop replaced him might have been staffed by someone from the Order who got use to doing things differently during the war, and was more likely to update the wand shopping experience.


	3. The Woods on the Moor. Ainsley Foxfed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Wix never quite make it to Hogwarts.

People talked about how dark and mysterious the moors were, how desperately romantic and lonely they were. People never talked about what the moors where like in the spring, how the animals came out in throves, and everywhere you looked there were birds, thousands of birds all singing in rough harmony at the top of their lungs. How the sharp sun came out and burned away the thick damp fog by late morning, and the flowers emerged, some smelling sweetly and some not, but almost all hiding a cure for one thing or another. In the spring was when the moors came alive.

It was winter though, and the moor edge onto dark abandoned woods on one side, and towns on the coast on the other, one side sleeping, silent for a hundred years, the other busily vibrant with loud life and constantly changing as the population hiccuped and expanded, and shrank with the tide of time. Under the seeping shadows of the wood the animals were asleep or in hiding, and Ainsley was running. Because the Men had come again.

Under branches and through thick tightly packed bramble patches, down small, tiny, carefully cultivated paths disguised as deer trails, knolls, gaps in shadows. Paths she’d been carefully training with her Ma and Da since she was old enough to toddle past the boundary wards of the village in the wood. Behind her, far, behind her, The Towns Men with their heavy boots and loud voices and ruthless spells were hacking in from the edge of the wood, trampling delicate vines as they forced their way in where they didn’t belong. Where they weren’t wanted. The way they had been trying for generations.

Ainsley was young still, but strong enough and old enough to be trusted to watch the edge of the wood for a few hours. She knew the paths better then almost anyone, had trained two herself. And when the Men had appeared on the horizon of the moors, she’d simply melted into the shadows, long before they’d gotten close enough to spy her. Ainsley was one of the best, the brightest, and one day she would help the others the way her Parents had in their time. It was only fitting that she would be the one to give warning.

Ducking under a low hanging branch that was older then she was, and between one breath and the next, Ainsley coughed, sighed, and slipped smaller and smaller, until she curled into a mimicry of a fox, wrapped in fog and shadow, and slipped deeper into the wood, towards the heart where the trees grew so tightly bound that to cut down one would be to kill them all, and where sun hadn’t escaped to strike the ground in generations.

Ainsley was almost home. And when the Men tried to come, with their impractical robes and reasoning voices and wands crafted by others hands, they would be ready. Another generation of children wouldn’t be stolen, take and sent to far away building made of emotionless stone and taught that the old ways were foolish. No one else would be made to forget, to change. No one else would ever try to come back seven years after they had been taken, and have the wards not recognize them as Family. The Men had made a mistake in not coming for several years, and now more of them were of age to defend the woods then ever before.

Never Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of fascinated with the idea of isolationist Wixen, not exactly purebloods, but convinced that the industrialization of magic and education was harmful. The Ministry does not seem like the type to have actually given young wixen a real choice about learning to control their magic in supervised settings, since an untrained wix ostensibly may reveal the magical world.
> 
> I will confess I was also influenced by the heart breaking stories of indigenous populations around the world, from Russia to the United States and Australia, where until recent times (and it could be argued to this day) children were often forcibly taken from their families in droves, to be educated and 'civilized' in schools and foster families that forced them to give up their native culture and language, and taught them to be ashamed of their heritage. This of course in no way is a perfect analogy for the horrors they have experienced in real life, but I wanted to raise the idea of a minority culture in the wizarding world that may have been similarly oppressed by the heavy handed western influence of the general community.


	4. Diana Joy Latimore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the assignments in Advanced Potions OWL prep were more rewarding then others.

See the thing about advanced Potions OWL prep, was that since it never seemed to garner the interest or entrance of more then four or five students, the vast majority of the students where either completely oblivious, or thought it was some sort of remedial study hall for those in danger of failing. Advanced Potions was nothing of the sort.

 

Headmistress McGonagall had actually been the one to suggest it, mirroring the advanced studies classes she’d heard of in muggle schools, when she’d disappear for two weeks to attend a muggle scholastic administrators workshop in her first year as Headmaster. There had been advance classes for a number of the other OWLs as well, but Potions seemed to have been the only that had stuck it out, though DADA of course was infamous for its after hours advanced lectures in the wake of the Dark Lord. Advanced Potions, was different though. Instead of memorizing recipes and spells out of a text book and practicing them over and over, they studied Magical Theory for two weeks, and choosing term projects. The projects, to redesign an existing potion, or create a new one with minimal negative side effects.

 

Professor Finnegan was a bit of a nutter, but was absolutely brilliant when it came to Potions; And he only had one odd restriction to Potions. Professor Finnegan said that Potions worked because the ingredients represented different types of sacrifices, that nothing came from nothing, and everything had a price. Then again the Proffesor also had a well known proclivity for making things explode in his spare time, so it was to be assumed that anything he said ought to be taken with a grain of salt. Never the less for the class, during the two introductory weeks of Magical Theory, they made their own notebooks to use for the class, putting every note and potion attempt in them. They’d all gone together to make the parchment, choosing the less time consuming and unpleasant wood based over the skin based, but when it came to binding it, they separated, their little study group not a strong enough bond to keep them together during such a silly waste of time that at the same time somehow seemed so deeply private that they found themselves reluctant to explain when friends asked what they were working on.

 

Jackson had finished his first, staying up late one night in the kitchen after the house elves had gone to bed, charming one of the oven’s so he could use it to weld a metal lever lock and spine for his spell book, so much like the brass ones in his fading memories of his childhood at his grandmums house that summer long ago when his Mum and Da had gone on an important Mission for the Order, and Mum had come back alone. The outside he bound with thick sturdy leather from a Thestral that had died the year before. To him, and to many students, it was thick and grey, with a slight brownish edging. To many of the youngest, it was somehow just the slightest bit hard to see, or perhaps to look at, they weren’t sure.

 

Diana had been one of the last to finish hers, followed only by Caroline who’d broken her arm and had to take about a week to slowly reset it properly this time with strengthening potions that had tasted like ash coated blood according to her. Diana had originally intended to cover hers in some type of reclaimed leather, like most of the other students had chosen, but something stopped her. She was far from a vegan, but something about shrouding her perfectly blank spell book in the skin of a innocent animal, however natural the death, seemed unlucky in a way. Instead, she’d gone to the Hufflepuff house, and had asked around until she found Roderick, the quiet boy she’d seen with a hand loom occasionally on warm days in the courtyard. She’d owled a few acquaintances, and in a couple of days had assembled a collection of furs and wools from a variety of well loved and well groomed pets.

 

Learning to card and spin them had been the most difficult part, but once she’d managed the thread, as thick and awkward as it was, the dying and weaving had been the fun part. Once she had the base fabric Diana took the rest of the leftover thread and waxed it, rolling it smaller and tighter before sewing it back and forth over over every inch of the fabric, joining the protective threads to their brothers until they were indistinguishable, save for the subtle texture and protective quality they afforded it.

 

Once finished her spellbook looked more likely something that belonged in the possession of the infamously brilliant if eccentric Wix Lovegood then it did a top class student from Ravenclaw, but it was hers. All hers. Every inch of it made with her own hands during countless precious study hours and free periods. Diana had never made something like this before.

 

Sitting down at her much neglected desk at last, she took a deep breath, and opened her spellbook to the first tantalizingly blank page. It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely the fault of the excellent if over priced journal selection in Barnes and Noble, which caused me to spend several hours daydreaming about writing an entire book in which everyone makes their own spellbooks and what they are made off tells you about the person, much like a wand. 
> 
> Jackson and Diana's spellbooks are both based off of real notebooks that you can buy. Jacksons can be found here  
> http://www.barnesandnoble.com/p/home-gift-wood-textured-brown-italian-leather-journal-with-lock-6-x-8/27736617?ean=9780641812101
> 
> and Diana's doesn't appear to be sold online, however this is a picture I took of it: http://ajadedknight.tumblr.com/post/106383557514


	5. Carol Danielle Leone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it takes a fresh perspective to recognize the best in a person or a place.

The sky in Scotland was amazing, whenever the cloud cover lifted. The blues bordered on artificial shades, and the clouds just looked realer then the ones in the city. More, well, cloud like in their shading and weight.

 

Carol had grown up in a town on the edge of a city, had spent her entire life living some place or another with sidewalks and delivery pizza. Out here, once you got past the edge of the grounds and faced away from the woods, the sky just- continued. Forever, or at least until it disappeared at the edge of the curvature of the earth, so far away she was never quite sure if it was a hill or the true edge of the world. Up here, hidden in the highlands, every breath felt like the first breath of a long weekend, so long and full that it seemed like you’d never run out of them.

 

Carol would be the first to admit she had fallen more then a bit in love with Scotland before she had fallen in love with Hogwarts. Hogwarts was lovely, of course. Technically early middle ages in design, thanks to the magic that sustained it and made it’s impossible design possible, it more screamed renaissance meet modern day fantasy land then anything else. It was lovely, and grand, and so much more a castle shaped mansion then it had with its historical counterparts. For one, it had flushable plumbing.

 

The Castle was amazing yes, but the best parts were the little things, not the grand hall that looked just as impressive as dining in Grand Central in New York, or the ridiculous moving staircases that looked like nothing more then stone-worked cranes. The garden was one of her favorites, the small herb one off the kitchens, with meditation paths running through it that adjusted themselves to whatever walking pattern and length you found the most soothing. Or the benches tucked into tiny alcoves off of it, that could softly play music so old it’s creators had been long forgotten, if you were sad or knew hot to ask. The hundred or more little details in the castle that couldn’t have possible been designed by its creators almost a thousand years ago, but some how still existed.

 

The best thing about Hogwarts, Carol concluded, was that the only way anything made sense was if Hogwarts Castle itself was alive. At the very least it was analogous to an early query based A.I., but it’s adaptation and anticipation protocols for running itself alone would have to be so sophisticated, nothing short of nigh full blown consciousness made sense. Even magic had to follow some rules, and Hogwarts most of all. But somewhere along the way, in the midst of centuries of spells and directions and protective instructions, Hogwarts had begun to breathe, and adapt before the instructions to do so came. Hogwarts had been quietly, unnoticed, born, quite possibly the first or only of her kind, the greatest breakthrough in all of Magic as far as Carol was concerned, and no one had bothered to notice.

 

Wix might be ‘wise’ and have so much knowledge they chose not to share with the muggle population, but they were blind too. So use to how they did things and saw things, that they didn’t even recognize the difference between magic and a miracle when it was hiding right in front of them. When they were living and growing and breathing right in the middle of the newest magical creature on earth, and it loved them.

 

Hogwarts loved them. She had to. Why else the little, stupid, inconsequential details that no one would notice or mention if they didn’t exist, but did. Hogwarts loved them, and Carol loved Hogwarts. Wildly, passionately, head over heels loved her back. And she’d do whatever she had to to take care of her.

 

After all, who protects the protector?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot tell me after all this time and magic that Hogwarts hasn't developed a personality and consciousness. Tiny bit influenced by the depictions of Atlantis in Stargate Atlantic fanon.
> 
> -Also thought I should mention I am writing every single one of these drabbles while in cars or trains (am currently posting from a train too). The holiday season is hellish travel-wise for me, so I'm really enjoying this intellectual break.


	6. Dani Johnson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani's been on her own for a long time, but you never forget the stench of trouble.

Her foster home was always cold this time of year. Most foster homes were, that peculiar damp hint in the air that seemed pervasive to that particular species of houses, digging deep into the bones and lingering for weeks after spring had finally sprung. Dani sometimes wondered if it was just her, if other fosters didn’t feel it. They certainly didn’t act like they did, most of those she had met seemed to almost perk up with the breaking of winter and the start of a new year. As much as they ever perked up, at least.

 

The damp could be felt at any time, in the oddest of places this time of year. Most often she felt it seeping off of the local quiet cemetary, two streets down from her habitual trudge to school. It lingered in one of the third floor bathrooms at school too, getting thicker and cooler the closer you got to the very last stall on the left hand wall, farthest from the sinks and closest to the once frosted windows that had been scrapped clear by generations of students.

 

Dani hated it. She loved the Parkers, loved how they had taken her in and treated her as one of their own, how she slept every night in her own bed in her own room with a door that locked from the inside, and how no one mentioned her habit of sneaking out into the hall in the middle of the night to slowly crank the heat as high as she dared. Mrs Parker had simply took her shopping for new blankets after the first time it’d happened for a week straight, stacking the cart with impossibly soft microfiber throws, and soldi heavy hand knit duvets, to pile her bed with, no question. But she hated the cold that seemed to creep up on her at the oddest times, from the least suspecting places. Even here, in the safety of the Parkers well stocked abode, it lingered faintly, like the stench of perfume spilled decades ago, in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall.

 

The cold could be felt from anywhere, but until the day that women in her odd green and black dress had arrived unannounced, she had never felt it in the scorching heat of a late August sunset. The women, Ms. Henderson, came with all the proper credentials and introductions, and spoken at length about the most exciting overseas bordering school opportunity, for which she’d already qualified for an exclusive scholarship that would cover all her costs. All she had to do was say yes to this once in a life time opportunity. There were no strings, no tricks, just a chance to finally prove what she was worth.

 

Dani said she would think about it, and offered to walk Ms. Henderson to the door, after she finished exchanging farewells and contact information with the Parkers. At the door, Ms. Henderson paused on the steps and turned to look back at Dani. 

 

“It’s a wonderful opportunity, more then you know. This school could give you a chance like none other”.

 

Dani smiled politely.

 

“I’m sure it would. But if they’re going to send someone again, next time have them send someone who doesn’t smell of death quite so strongly.” And with that, she softly but firmly closed the door in Ms. Henderson’s shocked face, and threw the bolt home.

 

Dani didn’t have anyone left but a couple of well meaning guardians and a small cardboard box of belongings from Before. But in that box was a small album, with pictures that moved only when she was all alone, a silver catch that burned her fingers when the moon what high and round, and a warning hidden letter by letter in the background of the pictures and in the glances of their animated yet lifeless occupants. And that warning’d been whispered into her ear every night as she was on the brink of sleep, since the day her mother stood up from the kitchen table ,walked out the backdoor, and never returned. 

 

DON’T TRUST ANYONE WHO DOESN’T SMELL LIKE ME. DON’T BELIEVE ANYONE WHO DOES. -LOVE, MUM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dani is a were, if you hadn't guessed, one without a pack. I like to image her mother died drawing off dark Wix from her baby during the war.


	7. Laura Lowry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic is no replacement for common sense.

Laura had never been a particularly driven student. Decent, sure, if it was a topic she particularly liked or was with a teacher she respected. But her grades had always meandered to follow her interests, many of which unfortunately didn’t correspond with the curriculum. Her younger sister had fared somewhat better to her parents relief, Meghan usually managing to scrape up a motley collection of Bs to present every month to go along with her A’s in biology, while Laura’s sculpted a haphazard tour of every plus and minus grade between C minus and A.

For some reason her parents had held out hope that the same wouldn’t be true once she got accepted to Hogwarts. Surely magic and potions and fantastical creatures would give her somewhat soggy GPA the fresh infusion it needed, wouldn’t they?

Meghan laughed until she cried the first time they overheard their parents whispering hopefully. Laura loftily flounced away to school, miffed that in the face of literally life changing news about the worlds, her parents still managed to find some way to make it about college. Fuck college, dragons existed. And there wasn’t a college for dragons, Laura had checked.

Hogwarts, when she had finally arrived, was somewhat of a disappointment. The health code violations alone were deeply concerning, let alone the amount of autonomously operating spells in the castle ranging from stupidly designed move staircases to the security system for the dormitories. For the amount of time the professors spent lecturing about not doing unsupervised magic and not doing anything to alert the muggle world about what really existed, they sure had no qualms about casting spells that for all intents and purposes would probably continue running themselves for year and years and years even if the entire wizarding community was struck dead in a massive magical disaster. There was not a single deadman’s switch in the entire castle on the off chance that oh, I don’t know, a spell that was cast three hundred years ago might misfire or something. Absolutely no chance of that, no sire.

The first thing she did once she figured out the deeply unsanitary and unsecured postal system that was owling, was fire off a request for a complete copy of the wizarding health and safety policies for businesses and schools, and one to her parents for the general british version. Magic there may be, but untrained 11 year olds had no place handling endangered species, ‘tamed’ or no. Who thought an 11 year old could take care of themselves, let alone an owl or a fire salamander? The grooming and habitats alone!

Laura’s grades that year reached an all time low. The rate of illnesses, injuries, and animal mistreatment at Hogwarts did as well. The number of complaint letters about actually having to follow the rules even if you were pureblood, reached an all new high despite automated incendiary spells set to identify mass owled Howlers and petitions. 

Laura's parents were not pleased. Meghan was thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I've started a new job on a night shift that leaves me with plenty of time to ponder my own naval and the shortcomings of the wizarding world, so some new drabbles will be coming your way!


	8. Isabella Kidman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella is used to being invited to participate in advanced scholastic programs.

When Isabella initially recieved her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, it hadn’t been as exciting as the acceptance letters she’d gotten to the college she’d applied to. College wasn’t a full time thing of course, her mum being a psychologist who had very strong views on the importance of socialisation, but two days a week she could work towards an AA degree.

That magic was real was not actually as big a surprise as it should have been as the other of the two Dr.’s Renold’s was a Theoretical Physist by training and a philosopher by bad habit who loved to ramble about how much shit did not make sense let alone follow any known rules starting with bee wings and ending with love. Also the whole bit were Isabella began floating so she could reach the highest shelf of the bookshelves in the living room when she was 10 was kind of a spoiler.

That the magical world expected her to drop out of high school and attend an unacreddited boarding school sight unseen was certainly a surprise however. Isabella fished out one of her mum’s fill in the blank rejection letters that she tended to save for wedding invintations and conference appearances, popped it in the mail and promptly forgot about it.

The imposing figures on the porch that appeared the next day were also a surprise. Also their insistence that no of course you don’t have to wait for your parents to get home for us to talk to you, really, it’s fine, what do you mean you want to see a warrant? Don’t worry dear, we’re adults.

Isabella made the expedient decision to stab the nasty looking women was using her foot to keep to door open with a particular pointy umbrella, lock the door, and dial 999. Things deteriorated from there to put it nicely.

By the time both of her mothers pulled back into the driveway two unconcious policeman were sitting in a parked cruiser, the front door was missing some paint, one window was cracked, and one of the wizards had what looked like it used to be a nose and now more resembled a small scale recreation of the parting of the Red Sea.

After the requisite memory charms on the officers, the proferring of bandaids, and an affirmation of her parent’s opinion that Isabella had acted appropriately and reasonably in the face of perfect strangers trying to demand entry to the house and no she wouldn’t be apologizing, an arrangement was finally come to. Starting in the fall Isabella would be a commuter student not only at Westchester Community college, but at Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry as well, pending approval of the local high school for her to remain a notional student so she could continue to participate in the sports and activities programs.

Isabella was only slightly sure Mrs. Uttergrab, the women she’d stabbed, had meant it when she said “Trust me, you’ll fit right in”. Slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this bit thinking "what if.." and seeing how it went from there. I'm really into the idea of millennial wixen that take a more blended worldview about the magical and muggle worlds.


End file.
